


half light, jack knife

by adeleblaircassiedanser



Series: Radioactive [5]
Category: Veep
Genre: (again... less bad this time tho), A Lot of Feelings y'all, A little schmoop, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Caretaking, Clubbing, Cocaine, Consent Issues, Depression, Facials, Feeding, Feelings, Food Issues, Gags, Hypomania, Kissing, Light Bondage, Lingerie, M/M, Makeup, Makeup Sex, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Morning Sex, Porn with Feelings, Premature Ejaculation, Read the warnings please, Self-Destructive Behavior, Snapchat, Switching, Symptoms of bipolar disorder tw, Undernegotiated Kink, Unreliable Narrator, Until Dawn - Freeform, and, burrito callbacks, for real this time, fuckboys in love, hypersexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeleblaircassiedanser/pseuds/adeleblaircassiedanser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look, Dan. With bipolar disorder, or any mood disorder really, it’s important to track your mood over time in order to have a baseline for comparison for the effects of different medications. Mindfulness can also help you to understand and manage your symptoms better.” She pauses, waiting for him to respond.</p><p>Bipolar disorder my ass, Dan thinks maturely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings in the end notes!!! Please check them if you are the kind of person who needs warnings for things!
> 
> This is in a very different vein from the last few things I posted, but I hope you like it. Thanks to @blueteak for previewing and giving feedback.
> 
> Now with accompanying mix: http://8tracks.com/adeleblaircassiedanser/half-light-radioactive-part-ii

Looking back on it later, the day will sort of appear in flashes, hard cuts from one melodramatic scene to the next. It’s hard to know which parts are the unvarnished truth and which are colored by memory and feeling. That morning, Dan sends a snap- well, actually, he sets the short video as his Story because, at the time, that seems like a harmless idea. Barely anyone has him on Snapchat, anyway, and definitely no one he needs to impress for work or anything- but anyway. In a detached, compulsive sort of way Dan surveys the granite countertop, where he has arranged in geometric shapes with great precision the entire contents of his medicine cabinet, the majority of which comprises sleep aids of various sorts- the unregulated herbal ones, melatonin and St. John’s wort and valerian, and then the over-the-counter Tylenol PMs and Benadryls, and the good stuff- Ambien, Lunesta. Less impressive are the few remaining Klonopin and Ativan he has left, which ought to be used sparingly and lately have really, really not been. All in all, it is an impressive collection, the colors and shapes in juxtaposition- it just seems like an important image. The sort that should be shared.

 

After he sets his phone down, he cocks his head to the side and contemplates which of these choices to take. His brain and body are at a sort of remove, and he watches, as if through a saran wrap window, while his hands choose one of each, consider it, and pop it into his mouth for the dry swallow. He’s alternating between colors like he used to with candy as a kid (M&M’s especially, he would always eat them carefully so the same numbers of each color remained, saving the yellows for last- Dave used to give him such shit about it, pouring whole handfuls and chomping them up in one go.) It’s such a relief when he finally starts to feel a little drowsy, it’s been sixty hours at least, hasn’t it, he was starting to think he’d forgotten _how_ to sleep-

 

 _ALL WE DO IS WIN!_ DJ Khaled screams into the peaceful quiet of the apartment. Jonah calling. Dan picks up.

 

“Yo, what the fuck?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Dan, what the _fuck_ did you just post? If this is some kind of twisted joke I’m gonna kill you.” _Jokes,_ Dan’s mind echoes, and he chuckles to himself.

 

“This is a joke, right? If you’re not joking I’m gonna fucking murder you, Dan.” There’s a pause, and Dan gets the feeling it’s his turn to rejoin. He tries to remember what the question was.

 

“Dan? Hello?”

 

“Sleepy,” Dan agrees.

 

“Jesus fucking dick on a stick. How much did you take?”

 

“How much did I take… take away, take apart, this is taking a long time to kick in…”

 

“Open your goddamn mouth when you talk, I can’t fucking understand anything you’re saying. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay? Dan?”

 

“Mmm,” Dan says noncommittally. “J, I’m tired.”  

 

\----

 

Jonah is fucking pissed, okay? Like, he thought he’d been really fucking mad at Dan before, on a couple of occasions, but this is next level. His mom had pulled some shit like this once, between stepdads, taken one pill too many and Jonah had come home from school to her lying on the kitchen table in a little puddle of fucking vomit. Had to spend a whole week at his cousins’ house on a bed a foot too short for him. But his mom is a fucking pillhead and always has been. Dan, though? Dan has a lot of prescriptions, yeah, but he’s always seemed to micromanage them, like an alchemist almost, so that he’s always taking the exact right thing to remain at peak performance. He doesn’t even really like to smoke- either weed or cigarettes.  

 

_This is fucking bullshit._

 

When Jonah gets to Dan’s apartment he bangs on the door. Dan lets him in, and he’s looking loopy as all fuck, but he’s not passed out and he’s not dead. Jonah walks Dan to the bathroom by the shoulders and commands him to throw up. There’s no way of knowing how much he took or how long ago, if it’s too late for this to make any difference.

 

Dan complies without a fuss, sticking two fingers down his throat in a movement that looks smooth and practiced. It doesn’t seem like he’s even eaten anything, just a scattering of little multicolored pill capsules floating in the toilet bowl with yellow stomach acid swirling around.

 

“What the fuck, Dan,” Jonah says.

 

It’s barely noon, but he already feels exhausted, his limbs heavy, a migraine starting in the right half of his head. He flushes and puts the seat down, directs Dan to sit on the toilet bowl. He leaves him there, honestly a little afraid that he’ll throttle him if he has to look at him for another second, and goes to the kitchen next to survey the damage. There are pills spaced out at one-inch increments covering every square inch of the counter between the sink and the wall, which is both a fucking disturbing sight and a comfort, because the scene doesn’t look all that much altered from what he’d seen in the video earlier. Maybe Dan hadn’t taken all that much. Jonah starts scooping pills back into their bottles, not taking care to keep different types separated or matched to their correct bottle or anything. When he’s done he chucks all six or seven little bottles into his work bag, then walks that out to the Cube and locks it.

 

_What the fuck?_

 

Dan is asleep now, head leaning on the sink. Jonah lifts him by the waist and pushes him onto the bed. He thinks about calling 911, but decides against it for reasons that can be examined later. He checks Dan’s phone, then enters the passcode and views a snap from Amy- _You good?_ accompanied by a skeptical face, and then followed up with several texts:

 

From: Amy 11:38:13 AM EST

Please tell me you’re not pulling a full Girl Interrupted.

From: Amy 11:50:48 PM EST

I’m never visiting you in the hospital again. That was a one time thing.

From: Amy 12:17:39 PM EST

You’d better be dead and not fucking ignoring me!

From: Amy 12:28:32 AM EST

????????????

 

Jonah considers texting back, but settles on calling, hoping the hassle of it will be distracting, at least.

 

“Dan, what the fuck?” Amy picks up, sounding shrill. It’s hard to tell if this is just her normal level of tension or if she’s actually worried- they didn’t date long enough that Jonah can read her tone.

 

“Um. This is Jonah. Jonah Ryan.”

 

“Okay… I only know one Jonah, but okay. Is the reason you have Dan’s phone because he is dead?” Somehow, the precise treble pitch in which she says this does manage to convey both bemusement and a healthy amount of concern for Dan’s well-being.

 

“He’s fine. He’s, uh, sleeping it off.”

 

“And you are... there. Interesting. Didn’t know that was still a thing. Well, I am glad he is still among us, and I leave that fun bundle of responsibility firmly in your comically enormous hands.”

 

She hangs up before he can think of a comeback.

 

He lets Dan sleep for another forty minutes, watching him to make sure he doesn’t have a seizure or anything else fucking stupid and unbelievable. Eventually, though, he gets too mad to wait and shakes Dan awake by the shoulder. When Dan doesn’t respond, he kicks the bed without thinking. The toes in his left foot sting like crazy, might be broken, but it works.

 

“Dan, what the fuck. Wake up, fucker.” Dan squints at him.

 

“What?”

 

“What? You snapchatted me a picture of more pills than my mom’s fucking medicine cabinet circa 2004, and then you took them? You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

 

“Ok… so are you, like, depressed? Is this like a cry for fucking help?”

 

“No, you’re not listening to me,” Dan says, sitting up, and he has the gall to sound annoyed. “I was fucking _tired._ I couldn’t _sleep._ I have nothing to do all day and all night and I couldn’t fucking sleep.”

 

“Okay, so you haven’t been doing a whole lot, but you aren’t like… a street bum or anything. Your candidate lost a congressional race a week ago. You said you _wanted_ a little time off.”

 

Dan shrugs, looking tremendously uncomfortable in the movement, like a teenager mid-growth spurt, shoulders far too big somehow. He grimaces.

 

“I was just _thinking_ all day, though. Like, what am I even doing? What is the point of any of it? Why haven’t I accomplished shit in my life and I’m almost forty? Do I even like DC? It’s sure as hell not fond of me. Maybe I should have gone into finance.”

 

There is something very unsettling about the way Dan poses all these questions. His affect is totally flat, his speaking pace leisurely by his normal standards, and yet there is a creeping sense of panic that comes through in his voice all the same.

 

“Do you really think finance would have been more- fulfilling?” Jonah asks, not understanding, feeling wrong-footed.

 

“No not _really_! Obviously! I’m not actually retarded. They’re just, you know,” and he does a dismissive hand gesture. “Thoughts.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It seemed like… the thing to do. At the time. I don’t know what else to say. It felt like the logical next step. I was really tired.” He shrugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha so we're on this ride now... thanks for sticking it out with me, I know this is a Lot. Endless thanks to @blueteak for a very prompt and helpful beta on this today!! Same warnings as the last chapter, plus drug use and age difference (but not underage). 
> 
> I listened to "The Draw" by Bastille, "Bloodsport" by Raleigh Ritchie, and "Keep Yourself Warm" by Frightened Rabbit while writing this, and if you know any of those songs you have an idea of what you're in for.
> 
> ETA: Now you can hear all these uplifting songs with key lyrics highlighted, in a mix, here: http://8tracks.com/adeleblaircassiedanser/half-light-radioactive-part-ii

“Okay, so you were thinking. Then what happened.” Jonah looks totally fucking bewildered, a dumbass overgrown lemur in the headlights. 

 

“Then I went to the gym and ran six miles. I was hoping to, y’know, exhaust myself, finally, but I ran six miles and my legs were about done but my mind was still going.” Dan doesn’t mention that he had only stopped because he’d needed to throw up, or that he had then thought he might pass out. That drive home had been fun. “I was just really fucking tired. I’d been taking my normal doses at night but nothing was happening for the past- three days, almost? Just lying awake thinking about my skin decaying and my career rotting away until I’m a fucking irrelevant Bob Bradley lookalike. And thinking, like, what  _ should  _ I be doing right now that I’m going to regret not having done later. And have I saved enough for retirement that it’s okay that I’m not working right now. And what if my parents die unexpectedly and I haven’t been home since 2013.”

 

Jonah makes a movement like he’s going to speak, then pauses, breathes out heavily. “Okay. So you were... anxious. But you can see that what you did was fucking crazy, right? Like, that was something a crazy person would do. On a fucking Snapchat story, for anyone to see? What if you had died? Did you really want your mom having that as your fucking goodbye note, that shit on loop on fucking Buzzfeed?”

 

“I wasn’t going to die,” Dan says, and wonders why Jonah is being so dramatic. His mom doesn’t even know what Buzzfeed is, probably. 

 

“Dan, you were mixing six different sleeping pills on an empty stomach. You’re not twenty anymore. Liver failure is a thing. I don’t get what the fuck you were thinking.”

 

As he goes on, Jonah just seems to be riling himself up more and more. Dan knows he has to say something to defuse the situation, searches for the right words. 

 

“It seemed like… the thing to do. At the time. I don’t know what else to say. It felt like the logical next step. I was really tired.” He shrugs. 

 

Jonah stands up abruptly. “Okay. I can’t do this, dude. I’m sorry. You need to be on some kind of fucking - lithium, or a fucking lobotomy, or something- this is fucking crazy. I can’t be responsible-”

 

Dan barks out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “ _ Responsible _ ? Who the fuck asked you to be responsible? I never fucking called you-”

 

“No, exactly. You haven’t even told Amy about us.” 

 

_ Us,  _ Dan thinks derisively.  _ He’s fucking delusional.  _

 

“Which, guess she knows now, by the way, you might wanna call her- but you and I? We’re not exclusive, we’re not dating, so I’m not your fucking emergency contact. If you’re  _ not  _ actually suicidal, you might want to get your shit together and figure out how to keep yourself alive because I’m. Not. Doing. This.”

 

“Fuck you, Jonah. You’re not a martyr.” Perversely, Dan is a little glad to feel the chemical fury start to rise in him- it makes a welcome contrast to days of unreal nothingness. “Look, you were fine fucking a crazy person when I was your manic pixie kink machine, when it was fucking fun and unpredictable, is that it? What, am I supposed to be sad you’re tapping out now? I can do better than you. I have been doing better than you. Get the fuck out of my house.”

 

Dan is fully ready for whatever stupid shit Jonah is going to say next, but instead he just huffs. 

 

“You know what? Whatever. Bye, Dan.” He makes for the door, turns back as if to say something else, then just shakes his head and shuts the door behind him. The way he does it is infuriating, though, so careful and measured as if there’s a newborn sleeping in the bedroom (which, Dan doubts that Jonah’s human instincts would even extend to understanding that sleeping babies will wake up if you slam a door. God, Jonah and a human baby in the same house- the stuff of nightmares). 

 

Dan lies back down on the bed stiffly, tries to evaluate. He doesn’t know how long he slept, but it was enough that he now feels awful and exhausted and sleep-deprived, but a little less completely derealized. He closes his eyes again, chasing sleep, shifts onto his side. He’s hit by a sudden and immediate wave of nausea, leans off the side of the bed and dry-heaves. The sensation is overwhelming for a long while, but he eventually manages to stop retching. He reaches for his phone to check the time, but he doesn’t find it. It must still be in the kitchen. 

 

Dan’s careful to stand up slowly, but even so he’s swaying on his feet, watching his hands tremble uncontrollably.  _ Okay, this is stupid,  _ he thinks, walking into the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water and forces it down. Breathes. Checks his phone- it’s after 3. He feels a little better after drinking the water, but he’s definitely still shaking and he can feel the beginnings of a cold sweat coming on. 

 

What happens next is more than a little weird. Dan blinks, and when he opens his eyes he finds himself standing in front of the microwave eating pancake syrup off a spoon. The timer beeps and his hands reach out for the plate of ready-made breakfast sausages inside. They’re hot, burning his tongue on the way down, and then he’s sort of lurching forward, and it’s like he’s jerking awake without having gone to sleep. Sleep.  _ Okay, sleep,  _ he concedes, letting his body win this one, dragging himself onto the couch just because it’s closer. 

 

-

 

When he wakes up it’s dark, and his body has seemingly recovered to the level of “debilitating hangover” rather than “last throes”. The headache, the stomach ache, the whole-body-ache, combined are enough that Dan makes it through a hot shower and is halfway done shaving off four days’ worth of beard growth before his brain pipes up. He meets his own eyes in the mirror and notes that he looks, conservatively, forty-eight years old. 

 

“Made some interesting choices today, bud,” he says to himself. He finishes the shave, contemplates the razor for a split second-  _ what are you, a clinically depressed thirteen-year-old girl?-  _ puts it away. He checks his phone again. 

 

From: Kathryn 7:42:34 PM MST

Hey just checked Snapchat, you good white boy?

To: Kathryn 9:57:20 PM EST

All good haha!

 

He’s in such a rush to send it that he doesn’t register the exclamation point in time. He should have removed it, it’s glaringly obvious that it looks unnatural, makes the whole message seem fake. Dan turns his phone over. He doesn’t want to think about Colorado. What a clusterfuck. 

 

But then, if he’s being honest, there’s not much he does want to think about. He turns on the TV, but ends up flipping dully from channel to channel, utterly unable to focus his attention enough to follow a single conversation, resolutely not thinking about anything. Especially not thinking about Jonah, about Jonah and Amy discussing him, discussing  _ responsibility  _ as if he were a child or an upcoming project, or, and this is more like it, a colossal fucking fuckup.  _ Who’s going to take responsibility?  _ Hot potato. Heads up, here it comes. Hurry up before the music stops. 

 

He’s doing a shitty job of not thinking about it. Abruptly he can’t be here, in this house, with himself for another fucking second. 

 

-

 

It’s very weird being in this pulsating, kaleidoscopic room while more or less sober. Weird and unfortunate, but it was clear to Dan that alcohol was not going to be an option tonight, just based on the limitations of his physical form. So when some nineteen-year-old random, a twink in a tank top with long blonde curls, dances up to him and greets him with an open-mouthed kiss rather than even a cursory attempt at a pickup line, Dan kisses back gamely. When the kid leans in to whisper in his ear, what a fucking cliche-

 

“Do you like to party?” Dan shrugs and follows him to the bathroom. 

 

It’s been awhile since Dan decided to take a break from cocaine, but none of the reasons he’d had for stopping at the time really seem relevant anymore. It’s not like he has anywhere to be in the morning- or any morning for the foreseeable future, actually. 

 

The familiar rush is predictably amplified by Dan’s lack of tolerance after years of abstaining, which means he gets higher off of two lines than he has since college, maybe. Grinning, he leans back in, grabs the twink’s hair and jerks it back, licks at his exposed neck.  _ Body glitter?  _ he thinks absently. _ Really? _

 

“Yeah, daddy, you like it?” 

 

So he said that aloud. Whoops. “Don’t call me that,” he says. “Shut up.” 

 

He’s gratified to see his wishes obeyed, as the kid drops to his knees and offers his mouth to be fucked. Dan obliges him, his mouth running mindlessly. 

 

“I’m not that old,” he’s saying. “It wasn’t that long ago I was the little slut sucking off random guys in bathrooms.”  _ And now I work in the West Wing,  _ he thinks, which is still technically true at least a couple days a week. 

 

The kid likes name-calling, apparently, moaning and making eager eye contact with watery eyes and drool running down his chin. God, this is  _ fun.  _ Dan feels powerful and present and thrilled. He comes down the willing throat, then kisses his own come out of a stranger’s mouth before dragging both their bodies back onto the dancefloor. He lets the kid rut against his thigh to the beat of some shitty EDM remix, the noise he makes when he comes drowned out by the blare of airhorns. 

 

This strikes Dan as being very funny, and that’s his last memory from that night- laughing with some nameless body in a crowded room, with some Calvin Harris track laid under the scene. 

 

\-----

 

It takes two days for Dan to drunk text him. Jonah isn’t sure how he knows it’s a drunk text, since it’s formatted properly and it’s not that late at night. The worrying answer is that he knows Dan really, frighteningly well. 

 

From: Dan 9:17:31 PM EST

I want you to hit me.

To: Dan 9:18:16 PM EST

No. 

 

Jonah really wants to be the strong, stoic, detached kind of person who can leave it at that, but he just isn’t. He has to call and go over all the reasons Why No. 

 

“Dan, no. Definitely not. What the fuck.”

 

“Why not? Are you still mad at me?” And yep, he’s definitely drunk, or well on the way there. 

 

“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not the point. You’re not using me to self-medicate anymore, Dan. I quit. Seriously. You need to get help from a DOCTOR, Dan. A  _ DOCTOR _ . And not that quack who keeps signing your Klonopin scripts, either.”

 

“So what, this is a moral objection now? Wow. Didn’t know there was a level of pathos and brokenness at which even Jon H. Pointless Ryan won’t stick his dick in you. Didn’t you once suck off two Sigma Alpha brothers during rush and then not even get a bid?”

 

“Dan, have you slept yet?” Jonah hears what sounds like more alcohol being poured in the background. “Hello?”

 

“Some.”

 

“Did you eat anything before you started drinking this time?” Dan hums noncommittally. 

 

Jonah is torn. On the one hand, Dan calling him first like this shows he’s at least somewhat invested in this- even if he just doesn’t trust some random off Grindr or Fetlife to hit him the exact way he wants. Then again, Dan has made very clear that this whole… arrangement… is just about sex and convenience, and there’s nothing convenient about driving across town because you’re worried about your  _ fuckbuddy,  _ because you haven’t seen him eat a proper meal, like… possibly this whole month? Which, to be fair, he was on the road or in Colorado until a week ago. But still. 

 

“Dan, I can’t do this tonight.” 

 

“You really don’t want to fuck me. You bored already?” 

 

“Jesus, Dan. Just go to sleep. Please.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I can promise you it won't get *much* worse before it gets better. Let me know what you think and/or hit me up with angsty or filthy headcanons at adeleblaircassiedanser.tumblr.com.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just want you to be okay,” Jonah says out loud. Doesn’t say, I love you. I love you. Fuck, I love you. I want to be with you for real. He’s thinking it pretty loud, though, and hoping it’s not loud enough to spook Dan, trigger his overactive fight-or-flight responses yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one but I wanted to post it in honor of the new episode God is blessing us with tonight!!! Song of the day is "Recover" by CHVRCHES.
> 
> eta: more songs now available here http://8tracks.com/adeleblaircassiedanser/half-light-radioactive-part-ii

Jonah is very proud of himself for holding out, although Dan tones down his end of things. No more drunk texts, just showing up on the couple of days a week he’s started consulting in the West Wing wearing items of clothing he knows Jonah likes, chewing on pens, bending over at the waist. What passes for subtlety in Dan’s book. 

 

Jonah knows Dan is still sleeping with other people, since he pops up on Grindr whenever Jonah checks it at work. Jonah had tried doing it during that first week, after the first time Dan had ended things. After the ballerina incident, though, he’d all but stopped. It’s pointless- he just ends up comparing all the basic Beltway bottoms on Grindr to Dan, and none of them are as freckly or as smug. Girls are a little easier, less grounds for comparison, but they require all sorts of buttering up and charm and such. Anyway, the sex was just never really worth all the extra effort. 

 

So after two weeks Jonah is perhaps a little too interested in the potential contents of a snap from Dan. The first image shows what looks like a colorful laminated brochure or something, labeled LAMICTAL. Dan flips it open to show a bunch of pills in blister packs, with the first one missing. Then the image switches to the selfie camera, and Dan lifts an eyebrow. Gauntlet thrown. 

 

Jonah is grinning to himself. First of all, the idea of Dan possibly, through the miracle of modern medicine, taking something which could allow him to function and, like,  _ enjoy life _ is amazing. Secondly, doesn’t this kind of prove something vis-a-vis Dan’s level of investment? Like, Jonah had set conditions on access to his dick, and now Dan has fucking met them. So on some level, he wants to be in this too. This is concrete fucking evidence. 

 

To: Dan 2:38:08 PM EST

U wanna come over?

 

Dan doesn’t text back, but he shows up that night looking both nervous and not, posturing as always but with an odd rawness showing through. 

 

“Brought beer,” he says needlessly, and holds up the six-pack. Some pretentious local IPA, because of course it is.

 

Jonah motions him in. Dan technically already has a key, has had one for a while, but after so long it might’ve felt weird for him to just let himself in.

 

“You want one?” Jonah asks, and goes in the drawer for the bottle opener. Dan shakes his head no. Jonah doesn’t really want one either, had more just been looking for a way to occupy his hands. He closes the drawer. 

 

The air in the room is kind of heady and strange. Jonah finds his throat tight as he opens his mouth to- to ask permission? This is fucking weird, but it’s been weeks and it feels somehow necessary- “Can I kiss you?” 

 

“Please.” 

 

Just like that, Dan is pressing up into him, frantic and clingy. They fit back together so easily, so naturally, that Jonah can almost ignore the terrifying content of his inner monologue.  _ I never wanna go that long without touching you again.  _ Dan is pushing Jonah’s shirt off his shoulders, grabbing on to the hair at the nape of his neck. 

 

_ You scared me. You fucking scared me, you asshole. I don’t want to lose you.  _ Dan strips, quick and graceful, and maneuvers them so Jonah’s backing him into a wall, not the other way around. He’s so impatient, all but scaling up Jonah’s body, making wanting noises. 

 

“I just want you to be okay,” Jonah says out loud. Doesn’t say,  _ I love you. I love you. Fuck, I love you. I want to be with you for real.  _ He’s thinking it pretty loud, though, and hoping it’s not loud enough to spook Dan, trigger his overactive fight-or-flight responses yet again. 

 

“I’m okay,” Dan says, for his part. “I’m okay. I’m fucking awesome, actually. Needed this. Fuck.” He throws his head back against the wall. 

 

“Yeah? What do you need?”

 

“You,” Dan says, and holy  _ shit  _ is that a punch to the gut. Jonah’s eyes widen, but when he looks Dan’s are still screwed shut, and he’s moving his hips urgently, doesn't seem to think he’s said anything out of the ordinary. 

 

“Tell me,” Dan says, gasping as Jonah sucks a bruise into his neck, just to keep from looking at his face for one more second- “Tell me how to be good for you.”

 

Fuck. Jonah needs to be careful or this is going to be over way too soon. 

 

“You’re so good. Jesus  _ fucking  _ christ. You look so… your mouth, baby,” and Jonah is relieved not to have to try to spin the nonsense in his lizard brain into anything coherent, because Dan is taking the lead. He’s dropping to his knees and pulling Jonah’s pants down and out of the way. He looks up through those fucking eyelashes, and he looks so young and pretty and  _ innocent,  _ even, despite the crows’ feet and the, y’know, personality. 

 

\---

 

Dan is very secure in his masculinity, thank you very much. It is for this reason that he occasionally chooses to augment his everyday use of tinted moisturizer after his cleansing routine (after a certain point, the freckles are excessive) with a lightly tinted lip balm. He does this almost exclusively when he’s planning on giving head, and it always, always works. There’s a rush in being able to redirect someone’s attention to the exact square inch where you want it. Jonah’s been attacking his mouth this whole time, in that sloppy eager way of his, and now it’s no surprise that he’s fixating on it still as Dan gives him a very brief- but, apparently, fully satisfactory blowjob. Dan pulls off in time to get a good amount of come on his face, and he’s laughing- 

 

“What was that, eighty-five seconds? Is that a record?” 

 

Jonah doesn’t tell him to fuck off, though, which is surprising- he just sort of cradles the back of Dan’s neck, stroking gently and sort of smirking a bit. More than smug, then, Dan feels… claimed. He feels marked,  _ wanted _ , and he’s dizzy and euphoric with it, the relief. 

 

He’d been feeling weirdly open even before Jonah had touched him tonight, exposed, and he finds his mouth running away with him now in a way it usually only does a couple hours into play. 

 

“You still want me,” he hears himself say, and the embarrassment of having said that aloud is overcome by the thrill of knowing it’s true. He crawls into Jonah’s lap in the LA-Z-BOY (a horrible tacky brown corduroy pattern, who knows where Jonah got it). Jonah thumbs over his crotch, but he’s only half hard, orgasm a distant second priority after the desire to be held, and admired, and reassured. 

 

Tomorrow it seems likely that he’ll feel embarrassed about having been so transparent, but after weeks of nothing, of thinking that the last time might be past already and the best sex of Dan’s life could be added to the pile of things his neuroses have helped him fuck up for himself, this is stupidly satisfying. He’s halfway into a headspace just from being close, having his hair played with, and he lets Jonah feed him a Chipotle burrito bowl right off the fork. He’s not hungry, but cooperating is easier than resisting, easier than wondering why Jonah’d had it waiting in the fridge for him with exactly the toppings he likes, tortilla on the side. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Anon with that one prompt, your time is coming very soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonah's definition of a really good morning has evolved over the years- once it involved a whole lot more sugar cereal, with the later addition of smoking a bowl or two- but in his current stage of life, this right here is basically it. He slept eight and a half hours, and he doesn't have to go into work because it's fuckin' Saturday. It's sunny out, and Google says the weather is gonna be unnaturally fucking nice for December. And Dan's here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an incredibly shitty day for obvious reasons, but I'm erring on the side of still posting this in case it makes anyone feel better for two minutes of the day. Shouts out to @blueteak for a read-through this morning, to @forsakethesea for being a general sounding board in the middle of the night last night, and to @iniquiticity for prompting morning sex and making sure I actually had to finish the 200 words I already had written. The songs of the day are "Sunday" by Bloc Party and "Strawberry Blond" by Mitski.
> 
> ETA: full mix here http://8tracks.com/adeleblaircassiedanser/half-light-radioactive-part-ii

Jonah's definition of a really good morning has evolved over the years- once it involved a whole lot more sugar cereal, with the later addition of smoking a bowl or two- but in his current stage of life, this right here is basically it. He slept eight and a half hours, and he doesn't have to go into work because it's fuckin' Saturday. It's sunny out, and Google says the weather is gonna be unnaturally fucking nice for December. And Dan's here. 

 

It's been a long time - too long- since they woke up in the same bed. Dan's still asleep, so Jonah allows himself a moment to luxuriate in his smell, the feeling of their bodies together. There are a couple of reasons Jonah is so glad to wake up like this, half-naked and tangled up. One is that it means Dan slept through the night, for once, which enhances all possible outcomes for the day ahead. The second is the person Dan is for the fifteen to twenty minutes after waking up on a morning like this. Smiling and soft and uncharacteristically open. 

 

“Hi,” Jonah says into Dan’s mouth. “Good morning.”

 

Dan cooperates for about thirty-five seconds before pulling back. 

 

“Dude, this is gross. Let me go brush my teeth, at least. I probably still taste like burrito.” He moves to get out of bed, but Jonah pulls him back in easily, positions him on top of his chest. 

 

“I love burritos,” he says, and goes in for another lazy kiss. 

 

“Fuck off,” Dan says, kissing him back. This lasts for several minutes- honestly, Jonah could lay here all day with Dan straddling him- but soon enough Dan will always get fidgety, wanting more and asking for it with the insistent press of his hips through the two thin layers of cotton that separate them. 

 

Jonah is an old hand at this by now, flips them over easily, pinning Dan’s hands down against the bed, boxing him in. This is what Dan really likes, you can tell by the hitch in his breathing, the slight widening of his dark eyes, the way he bites at his swollen lip. It’s funny how turned on Dan will get from a simple change in position- technically, the points of contact are greatly reduced here, with Jonah hovering over him and dipping in to meet his open mouth. He sucks gently on Dan’s bottom lip and is rewarded with a quiet humming sound, something between contentment and expectancy. Jonah relishes the lack of urgency for a moment- no one’s going to walk in, they’re both well rested and have no pressing obligations to deal with, for once they can just sort of be here. He pulls off of Dan’s mouth for a second to press quick kisses to his forehead, eyelids, the freckles on his cheeks- he ignores Dan’s skeptical face and gives him another three soft, closed lip kisses on the mouth before diving back in, slow and exploratory, with his tongue. Dan shivers. 

 

The thing about “being in love” or whatever is that Jonah hadn’t fully clocked what a big deal it was. He’d put words to it inside his own head for the first time weeks ago now, has had time to sit with it and accept it. He’s never had feelings like this for someone who had actually, like, agreed to be with him in any capacity. 

Anyway, the point is that Jonah had kind of thought the whole being in love thing was the kind of thing you could acclimate to, so after a while it wouldn't seem quite so batshit crazy. Instead, it seems the opposite is happening, his feelings becoming more overwhelming as time goes on. This morning has the feeling of a really good dream to it, one where you don’t remember what happened exactly but you wake up in a really fucking good mood. It feels dangerous to be this happy, like sticking his head in a shark's mouth. Jonah feels reckless. He kisses the spot between Dan’s brows, the tip of his nose, his jaw, then pulls back to just look at him for a little while.  After missing this so much these past couple of weeks, Jonah had hoped that having it again would ease some of the crazy, constant longing, but he can tell already that it's only getting worse. He would be perfectly content to stay in bed like this forever, but at some point the real Dan is going to wake up and make his excuses. 

 

"What?"

 

"What? Nothing," Jonah says.

 

"Stop looking at me like that. You gonna touch my dick or what, fucko?"

 

“Ask me nicely.”

 

“Fuck you,” Dan whines. “Please, it’s been six hours. I feel like I’m in high school again.”

 

“Fine,” Jonah says, and reaches one hand into Dan’s boxers. Despite the lack of attention Dan’s cock is fully hard, jumps in his hand, a generous drop of precome coating his thumb as he drags it over the slit. Dan moans.

 

“You should have done porn,” Jonah observes. “Fuck politics. With your face, and the fucking noises you make?”

 

Dan frowns, uses his free hand to drag Jonah in for another kiss, this one urgent and rough. 

 

“Shut up,” Dan half-growls, and he’s bucking up into Jonah’s hand now, desperate and erratic. 

 

“I just remembered something,” Jonah whispers. “You didn’t come last night, did you, baby girl?”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“You want it, don’t you. Are you ready to come for me?” Dan makes an agitated noise. Jonah decides to try something. 

 

“Okay, good girl, just like that, that’s so perfect- come for me,” Jonah says, and Dan does it, just like that, all over his own stomach.  _ Holy shit. _

 

“Holy shit.”

 

“Holy shit,” Dan agrees, eyes wide. He reaches for the waistband of Jonah’s boxers, but Jonah grabs his wrist. Abruptly, this has become way too fucking much. 

 

Dan looks quizzical. “You don’t-” 

 

“Later,” Jonah says, forcing a reassuring smile as he creates a little space between them in the bed. It’s nowhere near enough distance. Jonah feels radioactive; all the dangerous, ruining, poison thoughts are pouring off of him, beyond any hope of control.  _ Love you, love you, love you, love you. _  “You can go- uh- brush your teeth now. Shower, if you want.” 

 

“Oh fuck off,” Dan says, and kisses him again even as he’s climbing out of bed. “You love my smelly ass and my swamp breath, don’t even front.”

 

Jonah laughs loudly, then shuts his stupid mouth. 

 

\---

 

So the slide into a new normal is less than effortless. Jonah is trying harder this time to keep in mind that this is  _ not  _ a relationship, and even if it were, normal people do spend some nights apart, right? So he lets Dan dictate which nights he wants to come over, doesn’t encroach on Dan’s space at all. Thanksgiving comes and goes, Jonah not asking after Dan’s plans and Dan not offering any information. Jonah doesn’t hear from him for the five days he spends in New Hampshire, dodging his mom’s questions about whether he’s seeing anyone and rolling his eyes through Uncle Jeff’s rants. The night he gets back Dan is waiting in his kitchen, wants to be blindfolded and tied up. Jonah obliges and eats him out for so long that Dan comes, sobbing, without a hand on his dick, and then lets Jonah fuck another orgasm out of him. 

 

It’s casual. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter is mostly written, so it's coming soon and it is a fun one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while, but finding himself pinned like this again- there’s something about Dan when he gets like this, locked in and laser sharp- it’s not scary exactly, just unpredictable and thrilling and a little bit otherworldly. 
> 
> Anyway, the point is that Jonah’s not *not* into it. He clears his throat involuntarily, swallows. Dan smirks, tilts his head a little to the side. 
> 
> “Fucking hell. Is this what you want? You need me to remind you what you’re good for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go!!! I just wanted to say for posterity that I started this fic in the notes app of my phone, while on an alcohol-free steamboat cruise on the Missouri river. That's commitment, and shoutout to @rillrill for the prompt that inspired this. Thanks also go to @blueteak and @forsakethesea for reading it over. Any remaining faults are mine. Song of the day is "On Directing" by Tegan and Sara. Bonus song: "I Can't Take It" also by T+S.
> 
> Update: there is now a whole mix to go with just these first five chapters.. because i have lost control of my life.   
> http://8tracks.com/adeleblaircassiedanser/half-light-radioactive-part-ii

Jonah gets home one Tuesday night in early December and is immediately attacked- Dan pounces on him mouth-first against the door, gorgeous and lit up and overwhelming. Jonah rides it out for a minute or two, but despite himself he has to stop Dan, grabbing both wrists in one hand and searching out his sightline-    
  
"Did you sleep at all last night? You were gone when I woke up."   
  
"Yeah, I went to the gym."   
  
"What, at five-thirty?" Dan shrugs and takes his hands back.    
  
"Yeah, why?" He's making short work of Jonah's clothing, taking very little care with the fifty-dollar button-down shirt he'd insisted was an essential purchase, tossing it aside like a used dishrag and moving to suck at the two inches of Jonah's neckline which have now been exposed.    
  
The thing is, when Jonah had tapped out last night around one, Dan had still been up, reading Esquire with his reading glasses on. Jonah fucking loves the glasses, but has learned that drawing attention to them will lead Dan to sequester them away for long periods, preferring to squint at the page in the name of vanity.

 

Another, more important lesson Jonah has learned lo these past several months is that Dan falling asleep after him and waking up before is sometimes- often- a cover for Dan not sleeping at all, and that Dan not sleeping is the harbinger of a lot of bad shit. He isn't even working full time right now. There's no reason he needed to be at the gym before sunrise.    
  
"Nothing. I just - you're taking the meds, right?"    
  
"Fuck off," Dan says immediately, reflexively. Jonah doesn't rise to it, just holds eye contact until Dan concedes the validity of the question with a scowl. "Yes, I took my fucking meds. Am I not allowed to be in a good mood? Jesus Christ."

 

“I’m just say-”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Dan says.”I didn’t come here for a fucking psychiatric consult. Shut up.” 

 

Dan’s hand is covering Jonah’s mouth, now, and Jonah takes a second to process that development as he watches Dan’s scowling face. Jonah can tell he’s not really that angry, just a high-energy version of ‘annoyed’, but there’s an odd light in his eyes all the same, one that calls to mind an incident Jonah had almost forgotten. Said incident involved Jonah with his back to the wall, Dan’s attention utterly focused on him, and also half-eaten Mexican food. At the time it had been humiliating how his body had reacted so readily to what was not at all a sexual advance. In hindsight, though, there had been something there, even back then. The spirit of that notable encounter had carried over into the early days of their arrangement, too, all that aggression, the struggle for the upper hand. It’s been a while, but finding himself pinned like this again- there’s something about Dan when he gets like this, locked in and laser sharp- it’s not  _ scary _ exactly, just unpredictable and thrilling and a little bit otherworldly. 

 

Anyway, the point is that Jonah’s not  _ not _ into it. He clears his throat involuntarily, swallows. Dan smirks, tilts his head a little to the side. 

 

“Fucking hell. Is this what you want? You need me to remind you what you’re good for?”

 

It’s been awhile since they’ve done it this way- Dan sort of has to be in this specific mood, which Jonah had pegged at first as a funny quirk, but is now facing the odd question of whether it’s a  _ symptom _ . Either way, there’s something about being the sole focus of Dan’s attention when he’s like this, or maybe just simple muscle memory, but Jonah feels his entire upper body flush dark red within seconds, shoulders sinking down, relaxing into it, giving way. Dan’s face splits all the way open into a true, wolfish grin. 

 

“Okay,” he says mildly. “Okay. Go sit down. Pull out one of the dining room chairs.” He picks up Jonah’s tie from where he’d thrown it halfway across the room, then directs Jonah to hold his hands behind the chair back and ties his wrists together, tight, then pulls Jonah’s hands apart a bit to test the knot. It holds. Jonah is somewhat apprehensive but mostly just really, really turned on- almost ridiculously so, considering Dan’s hardly touched him. 

 

Dan comes back around the chair and moves so he’s straddling Jonah’s lap. Jonah’s hands jerk instinctively, wanting to stroke up Dan’s thighs, but of course he can’t. Somehow he’s still not over how fucking hot Dan is in normal people clothes, as rarely as he wears them. His dark wash jeans are probably some designer brand or another, more expensive than other people’s work clothes, but they still look- it’s not just that they look casual. It’s knowing how few people get to see Dan like this, knowing that he’s off duty, thinking about this, only this, not work or networking or any other bullshit. 

 

Dan’s fingers are running over his scalp, pushing his hair back out of his face, tugging a little bit, just on the right side of painful. It feels good, really good, like it always does, but Dan’s facial expression is distracting. He’s fixated on Jonah’s face, and it almost looks like he’s frowning, which happens whenever he’s concentrating particularly hard. This level of scrutiny from Dan is unusual, and it’s hard not to be self-conscious.

 

“Fuck,” Dan says after a long minute or two, and lunges for Jonah’s mouth. 

 

“You sure you don’t want to go get the glasses, too? Complete the look?” Jonah’s joking half-heartedly, feeling awkward and exposed. 

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Dan says. “You talk too much. You’re way too used to calling the shots.”

 

“Never heard you complaining before,” Jonah says. 

 

Dan shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “God, your mouth is fucking huge,” he observes, and hops off of Jonah’s lap, disappears around the corner. It seems like a long-ass time, ten minutes at least, and Dan still hasn’t come back. Jonah can’t tell if this is supposed to be part of the game. 

 

“Hello?” he says finally. Dan appears so quickly that he must have been behind the door just waiting for Jonah to break. When he walks back out into the front room the jeans are gone, along with his shirt, and he’s carrying some fluffy, lacy, Victoria’s Secret looking thing in his left hand. He crosses the room purposefully and takes Jonah’s chin in his hand. 

 

“We’ll see if this can help you remember to shut the fuck up,” he says, and stuffs Jonah’s mouth with fabric. He quirks an eyebrow, his way of asking for the green light. _ Okay? _ Jonah nods quickly as he tries to get a feel for breathing around the makeshift gag. For the first time, his eyes light on the black boxer briefs which are Dan’s last remaining item of clothing. 

 

“Holy fuck,” he tries to say, stupidly, because even though his speech is completely unintelligible he can’t not say anything. Dan is wearing fucking lace underwear.  _ Fuck. Fuuucckkkk.  _ Jonah’s fully hard, and no one has touched him. He’s still zipped into the grey (Dan would call them ‘charcoal’, but they’re fucking grey) tweed slacks he’d worn into work today. 

 

Luckily when he looks up Dan reads his mind, unzips him and pulls his pants and boxers down over his knees before climbing back on. Jonah can tell he’s making a really stupid face, his mouth open like this and his eyes wide- but not being able to touch, he doesn’t want to even blink, feels obligated to see and catalog every single visual detail- the v-cut of Dan’s narrow hips disappearing into the lace, the freckles (less pronounced now, in winter, but still Jonah’s favorite thing), the flush down the middle of his chest. Usually Jonah would kiss the little dip between his pecs, but he can’t do anything. All his choices have been removed, and there’s nothing left to focus on but the rough slide of lace as Dan grinds their dicks together.  _ Holy fuck.  _ Jonah’s losing his fucking mind. He needs to concentrate on breathing, but all he can think about is how hot and perfect Dan is, and he can’t touch, and Jonah would try not to make so much noise but he’s so sensitive, his cock stiff and leaking.

 

“Look at you,” Dan says. “I can’t believe how easy you are. I can see it in your eyes. You better not come before I’m done using your massive Sasquatch dick. I’ve been thinking about this all day. Couldn’t fucking wait for you to get home so I could ride you, just like this.” Dan lifts himself up a bit, and Jonah thinks he’s about to climb off again, but instead he just reaches down and fucking rips the briefs down the side, vicious and matter of fact, and tosses them aside. Jonah must be making a face, because Dan grins and reassures him-

 

“Don’t worry, I have more. Calm down. Thought you might like those.” He’s fisting Jonah’s cock now, leisurely, and it’s like torture. Jonah feels like he must be in the middle of a wet dream, though this is far beyond what his teenage imagination could have come up with. He moans. 

 

“Okay, okay,” Dan says. “Don’t worry, I got myself ready waiting for you to get home. If you’d known, you would have hurried a little, wouldn’t you?” Jonah nods maybe six or seven times, mindless. 

 

Dan holds the base of Jonah’s cock with one hand as he slides the condom on, then lowers himself onto it, slower than he usually would. The look of utter concentration on his face, the little furrow in his brow- it’s unreal. When he bottoms out Jonah’s hips buck forward, just once, and Dan reaches up to jerk at his hair with a warning glare. 

 

“You, hold still.” Jonah is trying, he really is, but this is so hot he feels like he might actually die. Dan’s hands are running over his chest and shoulders as he bounces up and down a couple of times, tentative, like he’s experimenting. Like they haven’t done this a hundred times. 

 

“Fuck, I love your cock,” Dan says, and Jonah hears him distantly, as if he’s floating away down a slow-moving creek. Jonah doesn’t even really need to be here. Dan’s just using his body the way he would a toy. “Want it all the time,” Dan adds as he speeds up, establishing a rhythm. 

 

Somehow, having his mouth full is helping Jonah stay zen. He doesn’t have to speak, doesn’t have to touch, can just focus on being exactly what Dan wants from him right now. Time might be passing very slowly or very quickly, he can’t quite tell. 

 

“Fuck yes,” Dan says. “Oh, shit, that’s good,” and he’s reaching down to fist himself, and coming easily all over Jonah’s stomach with a little grunt. He drags his hand through the mess and brings it up to lick off his fingers. 

 

Jonah whines, an animal sound, and Dan’s expression changes- softens, maybe, and he reaches to pull the gag out. His mouth tastes salty and raw when he licks into Jonah’s mouth. 

 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Jonah rasps out, and it’s not what he meant to say.

 

“You,” Dan whispers back into his neck, and punctuates it with a bite. “Fuck, that was so good for me, J. You wanna come?”

 

Jonah shakes his head. “No?” Dan says, incredulous.

 

“I mean, yeah,” Jonah says, trying to get his shit together. He’s still buried in Dan, barely moving, feels flayed open and brittle. “I mean, can I touch you? Please, baby, I need to touch you.”    

 

“Okay,” Dan says, nodding as if deep in thought. “Yeah, okay. We should move to the bed.” 

 

“Okay,” Jonah says, too strung out to really care. Dan gasps a little as he lifts himself off.  He kneels to untie Jonah’s hands. 

“Come here,” Jonah says, standing too quickly and forgetting his pants are down around his ankles. He almost falls on his face. Dan is laughing like crazy, like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened. “Fuck you,” Jonah says, but he’s laughing too. “Go get on the fucking bed.”

 

\---

 

A little while after he comes, Jonah’s running lazy fingers up and down Dan’s arm, his spine, pressing occasional kisses to his bare skin. Dan’s still, seemingly blissed out, none of the agitation from earlier remaining. Jonah decides to chance asking a question. 

 

“Dan?” 

 

“What?”

 

“If I get you a Christmas present,” Jonah says carefully, “will you promise not to throw a temper tantrum and break up with me?”

 

Dan turns over to face him, eyebrows drawn into a mutinous expression. Jonah can tell he’s only not speaking because he hasn’t decided which point to attack first.

 

“I’m serious,” Jonah says. “Can we just pretend we went through the whole thing already?”

 

“I’m sorry, what do you mean by ‘the whole thing’?” Dan says, and his tone ought to be a warning, but- 

 

“You know what I mean. The whole thing where I do some random tiny thing that sets you off, you throw a huge bitch fit, you ghost on me for like a week, and then you drunk dial me wanting phone sex. That thing.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Dan says. 

 

“Okay,” Jonah says agreeably. “Fuck you too. We’re angry, blah blah, I hate you- do you want to storm out or should I?”

 

Dan’s starting to crack a smile, a true testament to the power of oxytocin. Jonah- it’s stupid how fond of him Jonah is. He doesn’t even want to know what his own face is doing. 

 

“Shut the fuck up, Jonad,” Dan says and rolls his eyes. 

 

“Come here,” Jonah says, even though they can’t be a foot apart already. There are words in the back of his throat that he would want to say, if they were normal people, but he figures he’s pushed his luck enough for one night, so he settles for a long, searching kiss. 

 

“Joke’s on you,” Dan says in the muted tone that means he’s half asleep already, turning back onto his side. “What I get you’s gonna be way better than whatever you get me.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One note in light of the latest episode: this is officially a canon divergent AU where Jonah lost the Congressional race, but they started fucking during or soon after that. So do with that what you will.  
> The boxers are like this: http://malebasics.com/mens-lace-boxer-short (but nicer). As a heads up, updates may slow down a bit, work is crazy and my hypomania is wearing off unfortunately :( As always hit me up at adeleblaircassiedanser.tumblr.com with prompts, headcanons, etc. Love y'all, hope you're taking care of yourselves and having an okay week. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dan?”
> 
> “Hmm?”
> 
> “Are you okay?”
> 
> “Yeah, why?”
> 
> “You never answered me.”
> 
> “Fuck off,” Dan says instead of admitting that he’s completely forgotten the question. “I’m going back to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddd by some miracle here I am with an actual update on this fic!!!!! Major shoutout to @Catja_Mikhailovic for letting me talk about my son Dan Egan for like... four hours last night and finally giving me the motivation to finish this. Thanks also to @rillrill for reading this over because I couldn't fucking look at it anymore. Spoilers for Until Dawn. I wrote most of this so long ago I don't really remember what I was listening to, but you can't go wrong with "Swan Dive" by Waxahatchee.

Dan still isn’t working full time, and his consulting stuff for the White House is sporadic, so it’s about four days of radio silence in mid-January before Jonah allows himself to go check on Dan, reasonably sure that something is going on beyond his own clinginess. He finds Dan bearded, unshowered, and asleep.

 

“It’s just these fucking meds. I’m fine.”

 

“You sure? When was the last time you went outside?”

 

“Fuck off,” Dan says, and turns over as if to go back to sleep.

 

“Dan, come on. It’s three pm. You gotta get out of bed.”

 

“No I don’t, actually. Nowhere to be. It’s a holiday weekend, remember?”

 

“Okay, then. Come over.” Dan blinks at him. His face is blank, unsettlingly so; not the usual ice-man hidden motives bullshit, either. There’s genuinely nothing in Dan’s expression to indicate that he even understood what Jonah said, let alone that he might have any thoughts about it.

 

“Come on,” Jonah says again, pulling the comforter off of him. “Get up.”

 

Dan blinks a couple more times, then shrugs and climbs out of bed. Jonah takes a moment to appreciate his lower back and hips, exposed by the low waistband of his pajama pants, before Dan pulls on a sweatshirt.

 

“Um,” Jonah says. “Did you wanna shower?”

 

“Not really, no,” Dan says, unplugging his phone from the wall.

 

“Okay, that’s fine- just so you know, Richard’s coming over. Like. As well.”

 

“Okay,” Dan says. _Okay,_ Jonah thinks, and he didn’t think he could be any more weirded out, but Dan is getting his glasses out of the case on the dresser and putting them on. Jonah opts not to point out that he himself didn’t even know about the glasses until the third time he spent the night at Dan’s place, which was maybe eight months after the first time they fucked. It had always seemed like Dan would rather die than have anyone see him in them, would definitely not wear them beyond the threshold of his front door, but here they are.

 

It’s just weird, that’s all.

 

“Let’s go,” Dan says, snapping Jonah out of it. He gets into the Cube without making any kind of comment, which again: weird. As Jonah pulls out of the driveway, Dan fails to comment on his choice of music, his driving, or anything else. He just sort of stares into the middle distance.

 

“Uh,” Jonah says. “So we were gonna play a game- do you play PS4 at all?”

 

Dan looks at him, then away. He does a little shrug thing which doesn’t really answer the question. (It’s a little weird, Jonah thinks, that he doesn’t already know the answer. He can’t remember Dan ever playing any game in all the years he’s known him, not even on his phone, but…)

 

“Okay,” Jonah says. “Well, it’s not exactly a multiplayer anyway, we were just gonna take turns- it’s pretty theatrical, so-” he glances over again. “Do you like horror movies?”

 

That, finally, gets some reaction; a microexpression flashes across Dan’s face, disappears: “Sure,” he says.

 

“Cool,” Jonah says, even though he’s pretty sure Dan is lying. The drive between their respective places is really not that long, but it drags on for what seems like a good while, Jonah wrong-footed and Dan non-responsive.

 

“Are you mad at me?” Jonah ventures, finally, when they’re maybe two minutes away (he’s hoping the imminent threat of Richard will stop Dan from throwing too much of a shitfit if he is).

 

“No,” Dan says, closing his eyes and leaning against the headrest. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Don’t worry about it.”

 

Once inside, Dan sits down at the kitchen table and starts… examining his nail beds? Jonah doesn’t want to push his luck- just because Dan had said he wasn’t mad didn’t make it a good idea to hassle him about it. If he doesn’t want to talk, fine. Jonah pretends to be busy on his phone and thinks about whether he might be able to get Dan to eat something- is there anything edible in his fridge right now? He should probably have thought of this before bringing Dan over. Lately, Jonah has learned to stop asking if Dan has eaten- the answer is invariably no, though Dan will sometimes make the effort to lie about it. He’s also given up asking Dan whether he’s hungry, since at best the answer is a noncommittal shrug. He’s found that if food appears in front of him, Dan will usually eat, and not kick up too much of a fuss. Then again, Dan is being supremely weird today.

 

Finally, after twelve interminable minutes, there is a welcome banging on the door.

 

“It’s open,” Jonah yells.

 

“Hi Jonah,” Richard says from the foyer. “I hope you’re as excited as I am. The Splettnetters have been telling me to play this game for ages- apparently it’s one of the first really classic games of the 2010s- well, if you can call it a classic after less than five years- a young classic, I guess.”

 

As always, Richard manages to make an enormous amount of noise coming in and getting his boots and coat put away in the hall closet.  When he comes around the corner, carrying the largest covered platter Jonah has ever seen, they both speak at once.

 

“Dude, what is that?”

 

“Oh, hi, Dan. Dan Egan. Hello to you as well.”

 

“Oh, right, I forgot. Dan’s here.” Dan flashes a peace sign in greeting. Richard smiles, but he looks confused.

 

“What is this?” Jonah asks again, even though as Richard sets the platter on the table he sees for himself.

 

Richard looks down as if seeing the food for the first time.  “Chick-fil-a chicken nuggets,” he says.

 

“Right, but this is like seven hundred nuggets- why would you do this?” Richard shrugs.

 

“I was hungry. They always say not to buy food when you’re hungry, but I always find myself doing it anyway.”

 

“Whatever. You got the game?” Richard nods.

 

After eating an uncomfortable amount of chicken in a short period of time, they settle around the TV, and Richard puts the game in. Well, it takes a couple tries, but he does eventually get it to start. Richard takes the LA-Z-BOY and Dan sits next to Jonah on the couch.

 

“So what,” Dan says. “You said this is like a horror movie?”

 

“Kind of. Just watch.”

 

“You can play a bit, later, if you want,” Richard says. “It’s quite a long game, so we were planning to switch off.”

 

“Why is their house so fucking dark?” Jonah says. “Like, we get it, this is a horror game.”

 

“Wait,” Dan says. “Why are they all hot? Since when are video game characters hot? That’s Hayden Panettiere.”

 

“Were you a _Heroes_ fan, Dan?” Dan shrugs in Richard’s general direction.

 

“Dude, when was the last time you played a video game?”

 

“Shhh, I can’t hear anything.”

 

“Are these the protagonists?” Richard says after the first scene fades to black. “Why do all the nasty ones get to live and the nice girls fall off the cliff?”

 

“Also, who the fuck would call that a prank? Nobody acts like that.” Dan says. “That wasn’t even funny. It was like a parody of a parody of a teen soap.”

 

“Oh, is that not how high school was for you guys? I thought it was pretty true to life,” Jonah cracks. Richard laughs, but Dan just looks at him.

 

“The Analyst,” Richard reads loudly. Jonah would tell Richard that he doesn’t have to read all the title cards out loud, but honestly he’s glad for the distraction.

 

“I don’t like his mouth,” Dan says after a moment. “And I really don’t like his sweater vest. I hate psychologists.”

 

“Richard, how do I feel about this picture of a scarecrow?” Jonah asks.

 

“I would say it makes me happy,” Richard says. “It reminds me of Iowa.”

 

“This game is fucking weird,” Dan says. “I’m going to sleep.” He arranges himself on the couch so he’s lying down with his feet halfway under Jonah’s thigh. Jonah glances down and tries to remember the last time Dan touched him when there was somebody else in the room.

 

\---

 

“Dan, wake up,” Jonah says, and shakes Dan’s leg. He has no good reason to do this, except that Dan seems to have spent a grand total of ninety minutes awake for the day, which is a bit worrying. Also, he’s handed off the controls to Richard, and now he’s a little bored.

 

“We’re attempting to rank our fears,” Richard explains helpfully. “That way the game can make sure that whatever path we choose is as horrifying as possible.”

 

“Great,” Dan says, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Which are scarier, women or men?”

 

“Neither. Everybody loves Jonah Ryan.”

 

“All right, well, speaking for myself,” Richard says, “definitely women?”

 

“Fine then, pick that. Hurry up.”

 

“Okay, crowds or planes?”

 

“Planes for sure,” Dan says.

 

“Heights or drowning?”

 

“Neither,” Jonah says. “Fuck that.”

 

“Well, we have to pick one,” Richard says reasonably. “ and I’ve been told I’m a good floater.”

 

“Fine, put heights then.”

 

“What the fuck kind of game is this?” Dan asks irritably. “Is the whole thing just one long animated therapy session? Talk about horror-”

 

“No, you just slept through the good part, dum dum,” Jonah says.

 

“Rats or snakes?”

 

“Snakes, obviously?” Dan says, whipping his head around to look incredulously at Richard. “Rats can’t kill you?”

 

“Technically,” Richard starts, “rats have k-” Dan holds up a hand.

 

“Don’t wanna know, dude.”

 

“Guns or knives?”

 

“Knives,” Jonah says. “Hurry up, this part is boring.”

 

“All right already,” Richard says. “Crows or gore?”

 

“Who the fuck is scared of crows?” Jonah says.

 

“You know what’s actually creepy? This fucking guy and his creepy CGI mouth,” Dan says.

 

“Wolves or gore?”

 

“Fuck this,” Jonah says. “Now they’re repeating stuff? Just hurry up and pick whatever so we can play.”

 

“I really don’t understand why we go to therapy in the dead of night,” Dan says.

 

\---

 

Dan does make a commendable effort to stay awake for the next several hours, providing commentary, although he refuses to actually take the controller. After Chapter 5, though, he’s shaking his head.

 

“I don’t like those things,” he says. “Those fucking skeleton things-”

 

“Wendigos,” Richard chimes in cheerfully.

 

“Whatever. I don’t fucking like them. No, no, no. I’m going back to sleep.” Jonah is at first doubtful that sleep will actually be a possibility, given how agitated Dan is- he’s now taken to shouting at every single jump scare- but nevertheless, he stretches back out imperiously across the couch, facing the opposite way this time.

 

This is a little bit weird, right? Richard’s sitting right there, and yet here Dan is, spread out across Jonah’s lap, either relaxed or just listless. His hair is getting longer than he would ever usually allow; Jonah’s definitely not going to mention this, but he really likes it, passes the controller off to Richard and threads both hands through it. It’s sort of wavy, and when Jonah scritches his scalp a little Dan hums and his eyelids flutter. Jonah has the triumphant feeling of having seduced a neighbor’s reclusive cat into being petted.

 

Dan stays like that, seemingly at least half asleep, for maybe four hours. Jonah hadn’t necessarily intended to play the entire game in one sitting, given that he is an adult man in his 30s with self control, but it was four AM the last time he checked his phone.

 

“Dude, what the fuck,” Jonah says incredulously.

 

“I don’t know,” Richard says. “I’m sorry, I don’t know-”

 

“Fuck!” Jonah squawks, and leaps up to grab the controller back from him.

 

“What the fuck, dude,” Dan spits, sitting up.

 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, forgot you were there,” Jonah says, pausing the game on the menu screen. “It was an emergency, though, this douchebag just got Ashley and Josh killed within like five fucking minutes of each other. Jesus Christ.”

 

“Aw, fuck,” Dan says. “I liked her.”

 

“Sorry,” Richard says again. “I think I need to go to sleep, actually. My response times are really delayed.”

 

“That’s a fucking understatement,” Jonah says. “You wanna crash on the couch? We can just finish this shit tomorrow.”

 

Richard’s eyes widen. “Oh, no,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to-” he glances across the room at Dan, who has wandered into the kitchen, and trails off.

 

Richard’s look is questioning. Jonah shrugs. Putting words to the situation seems like too big a task for- oh, fuck, nearly five AM on a Sunday morning. Jonah clicks his phone screen back off.

 

Richard nods and smiles encouragingly. “Good night and good luck, my friend,” he says, and leaves.

 

* * *

 

“What did you think?” Jonah asks in the morning, watching from the doorway as Dan brushes his teeth.

 

Dan shrugs. “It was okay, I guess. I don’t get what the advantage is over just watching a movie.”

 

“Dude, don’t say that. It makes you sound really, really old. Like, Ben Cafferty old. Anyway, the advantage is that it’s way funner when you get to call all the shots.”

 

 _More fun_ , Dan thinks, but he lets it slide.

 

“I mean, what do you do for fun?” Jonah’s looking right at him, making eye contact in the mirror, far too intent. Dan’s head hurts. He has a sudden, fleeting urge to scream, but he shuts his eyes and it passes.

 

He started the Seroquel almost three weeks ago, and the constant nausea has passed, but it seems the worst side effect is permanent- it’s hard to describe, just a general dulling of his edges, as if his skull has been stuffed with gauze. There are all kinds of reasonable answers to this question- drinking is fun, for one, though his tolerance is now down to that of a sixteen-year-old cheerleader at a prom after party. Sex can be fun, but he’s not going to bring it up, the same way you don’t say the word “treat” within earshot of a dog unless you mean it. The fun part about this mood is that he can recognize, objectively, how completely melodramatic his reactions to any and all stimuli are. That doesn’t change the fact that being looked at or touched like this twists his stomach. Being in this body is disgusting. If you don’t take the meds, you’re crazy; when you do take the meds, you’re stupid and sweaty and all but pre-diabetic and, more than anything, fat.

 

Dan catches himself digging sharp fingernails into the flesh of his side (fucking _love handles,_ like a fucking soccer mom). He pulls his hand away forcibly, cracks his knuckles. Yesterday, when Jonah had dragged him out of bed, the crush of apathy had outweighed the shame of being exposed, half-naked, but now in remembering the shame helpfully rears its head. He wants to leave, wishes he had his car here. He wants to turn off all the lights in the world so he can be held without Jonah seeing, knowing how he’s changed for the worse. He wants to go to sleep, here in Jonah’s bed, and not have to get up until he’s no longer tired, even if that means he sleeps for several years. These new pills aren’t fun like the benzos are, and they aren’t making him any saner- just slower, less pleasant to be around, fatter, more useless, and fucking histrionic besides. _Jesus Christ._

 

“Dan?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“You never answered me.”

 

“Fuck off,” Dan says instead of admitting that he’s completely forgotten the question. “I’m going back to sleep.”

 

Jonah makes his Concerned Guidance Counselor face, but doesn’t say anything. Dan is abruptly so exhausted that he doesn’t mind closing his eyes and starting to drift off even as Jonah is still perched over him, staring. He’s halfway into a pretty unpleasant dream about a circus when he feels Jonah lift up his hand, lacing their fingers together, and press two or three light kisses to his knuckles. Dan holds his breath and pretends not to notice.

 

\---

 

Dan keeps doing the bare minimum, because what other choice is there. Inertia carries him through the motions of shaving and putting on a suit and going in to the West Wing, making the appropriate faces in reaction to the things people say, but he’s already exhausted by the time he wakes up most mornings.

 

On his off days he goes to the gym. It’s funny, but he’d never really noticed before that a gym is basically a giant, foul-smelling hall of mirrors. He notices now.

 

According to the state-of-the-art scale he has gained exactly 14.21 pounds in less than two months. He steps off quickly so as not to see the body fat percentage flash up.

 

\---

 

Dan keeps taking the meds for a couple of reasons, even though he’d much rather chuck them in the trash and have done with it. One reason is that the internet corroborates his new psychiatrist’s warnings about the possible side effects if he doesn’t “titrate” the withdrawal properly. Another is that the idea that he _cannot_ manage to keep taking a simple pill once a day in order to stop being a complete fucking whack job is embarrassing. It calls to mind images of Jonah and Amy and Selina and Dave and even his mother, maybe, arguing about whose responsibility he is, “worrying” about him, talking about him. The only thing worse than being on psych meds, he reasons, is for people to know you’ve gone off them.

 

\---

 

He’s avoiding everyone, not in a purposeful or directed way, just seeing texts and missed calls and forgetting about them, not having the right answers and so not saying anything. Eventually Jonah just shows up in his driveway, honking the horn of his ridiculous car. The sun is still up, a weird reminder that the seasons are changing, time passing despite him.

 

“Hi,” Dan says, standing in his doorway. “What are you doing here.”

 

“Hi,” Jonah says. “Hey. I just- are you sure you’re not mad at me?” He’s frowning, the most ridiculous hangdog expression on his face.

 

“Why would I be mad at you, Jonad? Did you do something?”

 

“I dunno,” Jonah says. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”

 

 _There’s nothing for you here,_ Dan wants to say. _Move the fuck on._ “I saw you yesterday,” he says instead. “At work.”

 

Jonah sighs, twisting his mouth to the side. “Okay, Dan,” he says.

 

“Look,” Dan says. “Don’t- you can come in, if you want.”

 

Jonah’s eyes light up. Dan feels something curdle in his gut- guilt, maybe? It’s an unfamiliar feeling, and not a pleasant one.

 

Jonah’s eyes follow him eagerly, and he retreats behind the kitchen bar to fix a drink- _Something fancy_ , he thinks, something complicated. He knows Jonah will still willingly buy and consume Natty Light, even with his ample trust fund and six-figure salary (low six figures, but still), but he needs something to occupy his hands, somewhere to look besides Jonah’s wide-open face.

 

He settles on Old Fashioneds, muddling the fruit and bitters and sugar maybe a bit longer than necessary, and he takes a couple shots straight from the whiskey bottle while Jonah is in the bathroom. By the time they’ve finished their drinks, he’s loosened up enough to be kissed without flinching. When Jonah goes for his shirt buttons, though, he barely stops himself from jerking away; he slides to his knees instead, smiling with his eyes, beguiling, opening his mouth to be fucked, all but waving a distraction, _something shiny! Look over here! Not there, here, look at me!_ It works. Of course it works. He’s good at this.

 

He thinks about when he last changed the lightbulbs in here, they’re on a dimmer switch but they’re flickering, and then about how urgently he needs to go to the dry cleaners, and after ten or fifteen minutes he swallows dutifully.

 

Jonah reaches for him, next, lays him out on the bed and looks him in the eye, and Dan doesn’t say no. Jonah says “You want?” and he says “Yeah,” and nods. He’s not even hard, really.

 

“Sorry,” he says, “meds,” which is _a_ truth if not the whole truth, and he meets Jonah’s eyes and smiles, and it’s not a fake smile, not exactly. He is glad Jonah’s here, and after all he came all this way on a Wednesday night and it’s been- _God, has it really been two weeks? -_ a couple of lousy orgasms are the least he can do- and he manages it, just. When it’s over he feels relieved.

 

He turns off the lights while Jonah fetches a washcloth, strips down to his undershirt and gets under the covers. The sheets need changing, another thing on the list of a hundred non-essential tasks which have fallen off the docket.

 

Jonah comes back into the room, cocking his head to the side. “Dude,” he says. “It’s nine o’clock. Why are you in bed?”

 

Dan sits up, takes the towel from him. “Sorry,” he says.

 

“It’s okay. Look, do you want me to go?”

 

 _No._ “If you want to.” Even as he says it, Dan starts to feel sort of intensely pathetic and nauseous at the degree to which he does _not_ want to be left alone right now. This level of separation anxiety would be more appropriate in a rhesus monkey.

 

Jonah’s standing awkwardly over him, maybe a foot from the bed, gangly limbs twisting over one another. He looks ridiculous. It’s probably better for him to go, honestly; Dan can tell that he’s not good company, now or any time lately, if he ever was. If he could choose not to be around _himself_ at the moment, he would leave in a heartbeat and not look back.

 

“Okay,” Jonah says. “But what if I don’t want to?”

 

 _Stop looking at me,_ Dan thinks. He doesn’t say it, because it sounds fucking crazy. He also resists the urge to hide his face in his hands or under the sheets, settles for getting up and walking out of the bedroom.

 

“I’m not going to tell you what to do,” he says.

 

Jonah follows him into the kitchen. “Dan,” he’s saying, and moves so Dan’s blocked in between his body and the open fridge door.

 

“What?” Dan says, taking a healthy swig from the open wine bottle in the door.

 

“Look at me,” Jonah says, but instead of waiting for Dan to comply he just pushes further into his space, until their foreheads are pressed together. Jonah pulls a face, crossing his eyes, sticking his tongue out.

 

“Get off me,” Dan says, but Jonah licks the side of his face instead, like a fucking dog. “What is wrong with you? Let me close the fridge, at least.”

 

Jonah steps back maybe half an inch in acquiescence, then crowds Dan back against the closed door. Dan shakes his head.

 

“What the fuck are you doing, you weirdo?”

 

Jonah just grins. “Made you laugh.”

 

“Fuck off,” Dan says, trying to tamp down the edges of his answering smile. “You’re so stupid.”

 

“Okay,” Jonah says. “Come here.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, but he goes, lets Jonah sort of gather him up against his enormous chest.

 

“I miss you,” Jonah says, quietly, into his hair.

 

“What are you talking about,” Dan says. “I’m right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay thanks for playing!!! Let me know if y'all are still out there, come by adeleblaircassiedanser.tumblr.com and make me talk and think about these dummies please. Hopefully the next chapter will not be a months-long ordeal. Love y'all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look, Dan. With bipolar disorder, or any mood disorder really, it’s important to track your mood over time in order to have a baseline for comparison for the effects of different medications. Mindfulness can also help you to understand and manage your symptoms better.” She pauses, waiting for him to respond.
> 
> Bipolar disorder my ass, Dan thinks maturely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy!! Made it in under the month mark. This chapter is very ED trigger heavy so be aware of that. I'm trying to figure out how to wrap this up so if there's anything - kink wise, plot wise, whatever- that you'd like to see happen I'm open to suggestions. 
> 
> That anon from May or whenever may well be dead by now. If not, anon, this is for you! Lots of blushing in this one. Love y'all.

“How’s your sleep?” Dan’s new psychiatrist, Dr. Sunny Ibrahim, asks at his monthly appointment in April. “Are you still having a lot of trouble with insomnia?”

 

Dan almost laughs. “Nope.”

 

“How many hours a night would you say you’re averaging?”

 

 _Jesus._ “I mean, if I have to be at work, then probably just… twelve. If I don’t have to be anywhere, more than that. I’m never _not_ ready to go to sleep. I think we can call the insomnia cured, at this point.”

 

“Oh, dear. Hmm. That’s definitely an overcorrection. We should look at lowering your dose of the Seroquel, then. What about mood?”

 

Dan looks at her. _What about mood?_ Honestly, the only mood he can remember having is just ‘tired’- mostly it’s just a blank slate, just indifference.

 

“I dunno,” he says when she keeps staring at him. He’s not sure of her nationality, but she has really enviable skin, completely smooth. Dan is consumed with the need to know whether she is older or younger than him; judging by the date on her med school diploma, he would tend to guess older, but she doesn’t have a single wrinkle, no matter what facial expression she’s making. Not in the Selina, plasticky-looking way, either.

 

“Okay, how about I give you some specific questions. Any increased irritability?”

 

Dan shrugs. “Maybe?” It’s hard to say whether he’s gotten more irritable or if everyone else is just being more annoying than usual. He looks out the window into the parking lot. There are a lot of gnats flying around.

 

“What about- do you have a lot of new ideas? Would you say your mind is more or less active than usual. Are you making plans for the future?”

 

“No.” Dan makes eye contact with her, watches her wait for him to elaborate, then sigh lightly and give up. In the back of his mind he thinks of the folder of Excel spreadsheets- 1 year, 5 year, 10 year plans- which has been collecting virtual dust since… at least last November.

 

“Okay then, let’s talk about focus. Do you find yourself having more trouble concentrating than usual?”

 

Dan crosses his arms and looks at the ceiling. “Look, I dunno. No. I’m fine.” The issue here is that he can tell he’s proving her point about the irritability, and that fact is pissing him off more. He wants to get up and leave.

 

“All right, well, we’re almost out of time. I’m going to take you down from 75 to 50 mg of the Seroquel, and I’m adding 150 mg of bupropion as well. We’ll see if that can help with your energy levels. If not we can try increasing the dose, or there are other medications we can try.” She rips off four pages from her prescription pad and holds them out.

 

“Thanks,” Dan says, and forces a smile.

 

“I’ll see you next month,” she says, and shows him out.

 

\---

 

“Can you just do that, though? Like, isn’t it supposed to be bad if you just stop taking them?” Jonah is trying to moderate his tone to keep from escalating Dan’s already fairly intense mood, purposefully maintaining a relaxed posture on the bed as Dan flits around the room erratically.

 

“These meds make me fucking useless. I feel brain dead. I’m laying around all the fucking live day long and now I’m getting fucking fat! Tell me I wasn’t better off self-medicating with alcohol and willpower.”

 

“You’re not fat, dude. Stop being such a girl.”

 

Dan makes a terrifying face and starts throwing pairs of slacks from the closet, hangers and all, at Jonah’s head. Jonah wants to laugh, but he also wants to live to see tomorrow dawn, so he bites the inside of his cheek.

 

“Was this some sick secret fantasy of yours? You always wanted to fuck a guy who could share pants with Mike FUCKING MCCLINTOCK?!?” Dan slams the door of one closet and opens the other.

 

Jonah makes a skeptical face. From the way Dan is acting, you would think he was leading up to saying “William Howard Taft” or “Mama June” or something.

 

“Mike is a perfectly normal-sized man,” Jonah feels compelled to point out.

 

“Excuse me, sir, are you sure you and your seven foot ass wanna talk to me about normal sized?”

 

“I wanna talk about you calling me sir.”

 

“Watch yourself. You look like one of those fucking Until Dawn wendigo fuckers.”

 

“Well, you look fucking edible, so why not just give up on getting dressed. It’s super hot that you remember a video game I made you play six months ago.”

 

Dan is still looking petulant. Jonah is man enough to admit that his- that Dan’s legendary temper is still a huge turn-on.

 

“If you ask me politely, I might still be willing to fuck you. Even though you’re not a size zero anymore-”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Jonah raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

 

“Fuck you, _sir._ ”

 

“Now we’re talking. Come here.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, but he shucks his pants off obligingly as he walks over. Jonah pulls him down onto his lap, then flips them over. He crawls down to nose at Dan’s crotch, savoring the familiar maleness of his smell- “Gross,” Dan interjects. “Just do it if you’re gonna do it. Stop sniffing me.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Jonah says, and moves to pull Dan’s shirt over his head. He takes a couple seconds just to run his hands over the smooth softness of the exposed skin, dips in to suck a bruise into Dan’s collarbone, pulls out to examine his handiwork, to admire how small Dan’s midsection seems under his hands. _Mine,_ he thinks, fond and covetous at once.

 

It’s been, like, multiple years now (well, a little more than two, but still), and yet Jonah still finds it nigh on impossible to predict Dan’s reactions to things most of the time. Dan flushes easily- he’s careful about maintaining a good tan, has expressed before that he thinks his Italian mother’s half is the more attractive one-

 

“How do you even come up with this stuff?” Jonah had asked, genuinely wondering. They lead busy lives. Dan had just huffed.

 

“Never mind.”

 

Anyway, the point is that Dan is still Irish where it counts, freckled all over and pinking in the cheeks and down the center of his chest when he’s turned on or flustered. This, though, is different. Out of everything Dan’s let him do- awkward bondage positions, spanking, crawling, dressing him up as a girl, shaved legs and makeup and everything- Dan has never really displayed shame. In fact, he’s always seemed to thrive on the attention, taking pride in how well he can adapt to anything Jonah throws his way. Now, though, Jonah glances up at his face and he’s beet red- not just the tops of his cheeks like usual, but his whole face and his neck, too. He blinks stubbornly as he meets Jonah’s eyes, as if he’s holding back tears.

 

“Whoa,” Jonah says, and backs off quick. “The fuck? Are you okay?”

 

“Fine,” Dan says shortly.

 

“Bull _shit_ , you’re fine. What is it?” Jonah gives into the urge to try to soothe him, reaching up to run fingers through his hair. He expects to be rebuffed, but instead Dan just turns to hide his face in Jonah’s hand.

 

“Stop,” Dan takes a very shaky breath and tilts his chin up at the ceiling, “can you just stop. Like. Fucking _looking_ at me? It’s not necessary.”

 

“What?”

 

“Like, you can just fuck me. You don’t have to make a whole production of it.”

 

“Danny, what are you talking about? You want me to fuck you without looking at you? What is this, 2016?”

 

Dan crosses his arms defensively across his chest, not making eye contact. “Fuck you.”

 

“Can I just state for the record that I have no interest in fucking you while you’re crying? What kind of animal do you think I am?”

 

Dan growls and swipes angry hands across his face. “A wendigo,” he says, and he smirks for half a second. Jonah feels a fleeting, warm feeling of relief in his belly.

 

“Fuck you,” he says affectionately, swooping in for a kiss. He drops one on Dan’s forehead for good measure. “Talk to me,” he says quietly, getting right up in Dan’s face so he can’t hide.

 

“What do you want me to say?”

 

“Um… some kind of guidance on why you reacted to me taking your shirt off as if there had been a death in the family? Or like Kent and Ben were giving you shit about your not-a-breakdown again? Help me out here.”

 

“It’s not that serious,” Dan says, sounding annoyed. “I’m just not stupid. I don’t need you to- I know I look like shit. You don’t have to-”

 

“Pause,” Jonah interrupts loudly, indignant. “Pause. You’re upset because you think that _I think_ that you look like shit?”

 

Dan doesn’t say anything. “Dan. Dan. I don’t even- what? It’s me. Jonah Ryan. Remember me? You were making fun of the massive hard-on I had for you back in, like, 2009.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Dan says hoarsely, “that was ten years ago.”

 

“Yeah,” Jonah agrees, canting his hips forward. “And feel that? Still fucking hard for you. I haven’t come thinking about anyone else in three years. I fucking love the way you look. Do I not say that enough? I think you’re fucking gorgeous.”

 

Something’s really wrong, though, because Dan is not preening at that, doesn’t look remotely mollified.

 

“Dan, I’m serious,” Jonah says. “You have to know this. I think you’re so sexy. I think your body is fucking perfect. I love-”

 

Dan claps a hand over Jonah’s mouth and shakes his head. He’s still crying a little, and the expression on his face is weary. After a couple seconds he pulls his hand away to cover his own face.

 

“Jonah, can you please- just do me a favor. Not today, okay? Please don’t do this to me today.”

 

 _I love you,_ Jonah thinks stubbornly, but he doesn’t try to say it again. It’s still there, though, in the way Jonah wants to comfort Dan, to wrap him up tight and make sure nothing can ever upset him like this again.

 

“Okay, so you want me to stop? We don’t have to fuck right now if you don’t want to. I’m definitely not doing anything if I’m not allowed to look at you.”

 

“No, it’s okay.”

 

Jonah looks at him skeptically. “Really?”

 

“Look, I don’t care. Stop if you want,” Dan says in the tone of voice that means he definitely wants the opposite.

 

“I want to look at your body some more. Can I do that?”

 

“Whatever,” Dan says, but his shoulders are down at a reasonable height, and his breathing has evened out a little. Jonah kisses him on the mouth a couple more times, then over his shoulders and down over his chest and stomach.

 

“Beautiful,” he whispers into Dan’s right hipbone, before sucking a bruise into the skin right above it. He leaves another couple bruises on the left side, then thumbs over them appreciatively. “Is that okay?” He glances up to check Dan’s face again.

 

Dan nods. He’s still pretty red, but he looks less miserable, and his hips are circling a little bit in the way that signals he’s getting into it. “Yeah, uh. Um. It’s good?”

 

“Yeah? You sure? Tell me what you want. I want to make it good for you.”

 

“Could you just,” and Dan’s barely breathing out the words, almost inaudible. “Tell me again?”

 

“Tell you what? How much I want you? How fucking incredible you look?” Dan nods and shivers as Jonah lines their bodies back up so they can rut against each other. He had kind of wanted to fuck properly, earlier, but now it doesn’t seem remotely worth the price of separating for however long it would take to find the lube and condoms.

 

\---

 

“So how would you say you’ve been doing this past month? Do you think these dosages are suiting you any better? How has your mood been, did you keep notes like I asked?”

 

Dr. Ibrahim does pause between these questions, but when Dan doesn’t answer she presses on gamely, like an intrepid reporter harassing Mike at a West Wing press conference. Despite the fact that he’s, in a sense, literally paying her to ask these questions, Dan has the irrational urge to tell her to mind her own business. He really wants to know for a fact that his total mid-sex crying meltdown was the fault of the pharmaceutical cocktail which is supposed to be making him sane again, but he also doesn’t want anyone, least of all this woman who is practically a stranger, to know that it happened. Honestly, he doesn’t even want Jonah to know about it. Actually, he wishes _he_ didn’t even have to know about it.

 

“Look, Dan. With bipolar disorder, or any mood disorder really, it’s important to track your mood over time in order to have a baseline for comparison for the effects of different medications. Mindfulness can also help you to understand and manage your symptoms better.” She pauses, waiting for him to respond.

 

 _Bipolar disorder my ass,_ Dan thinks maturely.

 

“Well, let’s start with this. How are you feeling right now?”

 

 _Furious._ That’s the truth. Dan casts about for something sayable. “I’m fine.”

 

“Okay. I want you to know that with a little bit of time we are going to be able to find the right combination of meds. This is going to get easier. And I’m going to work with you until it does.”

 

On the walk to his car Dan looks down to see his hands are shaking. He wants to hit someone. _Fuck her._ What does she know, anyway. Wake Forest is a shitty med school. Also, if he was fucking bipolar, wouldn’t the bipolar medications be expected to make him _less_ crazy, not more?

 

\---

 

“So what, you’re just not going to eat anything?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“Dude, I’m serious. This is some Mary Kate Olsen bullshit.”

 

“Jonah. Look at me. Read my lips. _Fuck. The Fuck. Off._ Got it?”

 

“Dan-”

 

“Okay,” he snaps, “okay, you wanna see me eat something?” Dan’s eyes flash. He’s scowling as he spins the open bag of Doritos on the counter around. He stuffs one, then two chips into his mouth without breaking eye contact. Jonah just looks at him, not quite sure what’s happening, and then after a couple of seconds Dan shakes his head and grimaces and leans over the trash can to spit them out.

 

“ _Ew_! Jesus! What the fuck?”

 

“Sorry,” Dan says, moving to the sink to fill a glass of water. Jonah watches him swish it around in his mouth like Listerine, feeling a deep uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Dan,” he says, and his voice comes out sounding more hesitant than he meant it to- “are you, like. Okay?”

 

Dan spits into the sink, then turns to- well, smile isn’t the right word, but he’s doing something with his mouth, and his voice drips acid when he answers. “Yeah, J. Never better.”

 

The thing is that in some ways it _does_ seem like Dan is improving. He's started sleeping at Jonah's on a regular basis again, after months of what looked like hiding out: because of that Jonah can verify that he's getting out of bed every day, a fact that could not be taken for granted a month or two ago. And yeah, there doesn't seem to be much Jonah can say that he won't take as a personal attack, but Dan being moody and combative is nothing new. It was sort of the foundation of their friendship. Anyway, it's vastly preferable to the shrugs and blank stares of the winter. And, not that this is a _priority_ exactly, but he also seems hornier, which is. Nice. Things could really be worse.

 

All the same, little things like this are worrying. Dan is usually 1) extremely image conscious and 2) incredibly stubborn. For him to back down from a challenge - especially something as easy as swallowing a Dorito- seems like not a good sign.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me at adeleblaircassiedanser.tumblr.com so you too can see how much of an author avatar Dan is. (Or just. Yknow. Talk to me about the fuckboys.) Thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for suicide attempt and disordered eating. Please let me know if you think I need to tag for anything else! 
> 
> Title is from "The Only Thing" by Sufjan Stevens, and I picked it because "Daniel's message" was too on the nose. And again, this is very much not the end, and if you're the anon who left me a certain prompt keep your eye out because your day is coming. :)


End file.
